


In the Dark Grey

by Aansero



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aansero/pseuds/Aansero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'We will admit,' Tethimar said, 'that to begin with we had thought thee to be ugly, an unattractive goblin and no more.' His voice was rough and low. 'But we see now that we were mistaken. Thou'rt lovely indeed.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all concrit is very welcome! There seems to have been a formatting issue loading it to AO3, so I apologise in advance if I haven't caught all of it. Thank you for reading!
> 
> With all my gratitude to my betas, [vederostudiesstars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vederostudiesstars) (ch 1 & 2) and [Island_of_Reil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/island_of_reil) (ch 2 & 3)!

_Ask to speak with Idra,_ Maia thought, but his head was hot and heavy with humiliation, or well-earned shame. _Idra would not wish to speak to the likes of thee. Desirest thou to see yet more scornful faces, hobgoblin?_

He could not bear to look at either Sheveän or Chavar.Casting his eyes to the side instead, Maia glanced at one of the armsmen, and froze. Later, Maia would conclude that it was not that the man's face looked like Setheris' face, for it did not. But the armsman's expression – disdainful but focused, sour yet calculating – was as familiar as any other expression Maia knew. It blew through Maia as cold wind blows through lace.

He couldn't think. What detachment he'd had before vanished as his throat closed up in panic. He was gripped by the consuming urge to turn around and run, but there was nowhere to run to. The door was locked. The other exit was behind Chavar and the armsman, who were watching him. They were waiting for him to make the next move.

The panic did not care. It wanted Maia to claw at the door with his fingernails, or to knock it down, even if doing so would break every bone in his body.

'We want to speak with Idra,' Maia said, weak and juvenile but still standing, because somewhere in the back of his mind he could remember a voice telling him that he was emperor... _it is not their place to dictate to you_. Maia could not tell who had been speaking.

'No,' Sheveän said, coldly. Her one word drowned out the voice, and it did not come back.

The word _please_ was on his tongue before he could stop himself. Maia barely knew why he wanted it. What would he even say to Idra? Idra had no reason to support him, this fool of a goblin, this incompetent emperor. Truly, his absence would hurt no one.

 _Maybe… maybe they will let thee live for a while first,_ he thought, and tears stung his eyes. He hadn't wanted to be emperor in the first place, and now he was to be killed for it. _Unfair_. How could this all be so unfair?

It was an old feeling, and a childish one. Maia took a deep breath, cold and damp and tasting of stone. Self-pity seemed to have cooled his panic, but he could not tell if it were an improvement. 'We will abdicate,' he said, attempting to draw the ruined tatters of his dignity around himself. He still couldn't look anywhere but the floor, and the armsman who looked like Setheris frightened him even more than Sheveän or Chavar did. His heart was pounding in his skull, and it made him feel sick. His back was hunched with the expectation of pain.

When he signed his name, his bones felt heavy, and his signature on the vellum was even worse than usual.

Two guards escorted him back up the stairs, through a corridor, and into a small room. They left, and locked the door behind them.

There was no light, and Maia groped his way forward to the nearest piece of furniture, a smear of black in the dark grey of the room. It was a bed; the sheets were cold, and felt damp under his trembling fingers. A slight, icy breeze was coming in from somewhere, but he could not tell where. The thought that there was something in the darkness at his back occurred to him, and Maia held his breath, wanting to crouch down like a rabbit who had seen the shadow of a hawk. Time crawled by. His bare feet hurt with the cold, and his whole body was starting to shiver.

Maia forced himself up, hands outstretched, and found the wall. He followed it to a corner, and there, crouched down, arms around his legs and face pressed to his bony knees. Had Telimezh woken, yet? What of Dazhis? What of Cala and Beshelar?

Would Telimezh kill himself for not protecting his emperor?

_Thou art not his emperor, Maia Hobgoblin._

He was crying before he realised it, wet, choking sobs from deep in his chest. Would Dazhis be punished for his part in this, or would the legalities of the coup mean he had done nothing wrong?

The bare stone wall was like ice, and his nightshirt no protection. Would Csethiro still be obliged to marry him, and become the wife of a penniless monk? Would she be put away and forgotten once he was dead? And Idra – how long would he last? Had he been a part of this from the beginning, then?

He had failed not just himself, but everyone. Maia knew that deep in his heart, whether he lived a life of prayer or not, he would never be able to find peace.

It was the first time since his coronation that he was alone to practice meditation. Maia could not stomach it, so he waited, miserable and restless, until dawn.

He jolted awake, startled by something unknown. Standing before he had fully woken, Maia took a small step forward, then fell to his hands and knees as his legs refused to hold him. He froze; he was alone. He could hear nothing. Had he been dreaming? If so, he could not remember what.

Gritting his teeth against the pins and needles that started to burn through his legs, Maia staggered upright. His situation seemed more solid in the light – more real, less of an absurd nightmare. He swallowed and looked around.

The room, lit dimly, was small. The furniture was both plain and sparse: a bed, a chair, a chest of drawers. The bed had a single set of clothes folded on top of it, plain and made of cheap material, that he had not noticed in the darkness. As he stood there, holding the shirt in his hands, Maia felt something wedge painfully in his chest, and took a few seconds to recognise it for what it was: loneliness. The keen sense of absence of those he trusted was a miserable blow he hadn't been expecting.

 _Dwell not on that_ , he told himself as firmly as he could, and dropping the shirt he made himself walk around the perimeter of his room. He looked under the bed – a bedpan – and inside the chest of drawers – a length of rope, thick and rough. For a minute Maia let himself be puzzled over it, until he caught sight of the heavy curtain rail, absent of curtain, above the small window. He choked back a laugh. He had not suspected either Sheveän or Chavar to be so heavy-handed with their hints, but then, he had not suspected them to physically kidnap and force him to abdicate either.

The time wore on. Maia ignored the rope, and put on the clothes, too exhausted to appreciate the act of dressing himself. He combed his hair with his fingers and attempted to braid it, though he suspected he only made a mess of himself. There was no fireplace, and the room grew no warmer with the daylight. He paced, and wondered what was happening outside his prison. He could hear nothing. Had Chavar already presented his abdication papers, and everything was already over? Or would other hoops have to be jumped through? Why was he still here? Maia peered out of the window, but the view was nowhere he recognised: a small, empty square, and blank walls with dark windows opposite. The frame leaked cold air, and Maia stepped away.

He continued to pace, but couldn't seem to warm up. He was not hungry, but thirst was starting to nag at the edges of his mind. The tremble of panic remained in his chest, dormant, and waiting. The day continued to pass as if he were the only one left in the world, while his thirst grew into a pain in the back of his throat and a throb at his temples. A thought sparked in his head that they'd leave him to die here – he subdued it forcefully, but it left him weak and shaking. Of course food and drink would be brought. Of course. Of course it would.

Maia gripped his hands into fists, but he didn't dare go near the door. There were undoubtedly guards nearby, who might bring him water if he asked for it. But he could not ask.

It got dark slowly, and Maia sat on the bed with his eyes closed, until the room had descended into a hazy soup of grey and black. Clumsily, he took off his clothes and put his nightshirt back on – the cool, smooth silk was a shocking pleasure after the rougher fabrics of the shirt and trousers, and Maia suffered a stab of guilt in realising that he'd lived his whole life in clothes such as those, and had never before thought of them as rough. _A quarter of a year the emperor, and thou art already spoilt_ , he thought viciously as he slipped into bed, and somehow, the petty insult brought a stab of fresh pain to his chest. Thirst clawed at him like a gaping wound. Maia lay in bed with his hands covering his face.

He had almost fallen asleep by the time Tethimar arrived.

Maia did not hear him approach the door, but he heard the key scape in the lock. He froze absolutely still, and was saved being blinded by the lamp Tethimar held by his palms already pressed over his eyes. For a second, he did not dare to breathe.

'Good evening, Your Grace.'

Maia swallowed dryly. He hadn't know who or what he had been hoping for, but it had definitely not been this. He forced his hands downward, but he did not sit, nor reply, though a part of him insisted shrilly that he should. _What, exactly,_ _c_ _ould_ _st_ _thou_ _say?_ he tried to retort, but it came out hysterical. The light stung his eyes, so he closed them, as if by pretending that he was alone he could make it so.

'We apologise for arriving so late. It took… some time to convince your sister to allow us this interview.'

There was something very, very wrong about Tethimar's tone of voice. The door closing and locking. A small noise as several items were placed on the chest of drawers, and the scape of something wooden. The mattress dipped. Acting without thought Maia all but threw himself away, but his wrist was caught in an iron grip and he was yanked back onto the bed. His head spun uncontrollably and Maia retched, unable to stop Tethimar as both of his hands were forced upwards. There was rope binding his wrist together and above his head, and Tethimar's knee pinning Maia's chest, and Maia tried to scream but did not have the breath.

A gag was forced into his mouth, and tied roughly around the back of his head, pulling out his hair. The world felt like it was spinning beneath him. Maia shook his head wildly even as his words, 'No – no – no,' were muffled into meaninglessness. He did not understand what was happening. Tethimar towered above him, kneeling between Maia's legs, his lower stomach pressed to Maia's crotch. He was grinning. Maia shut his eyes tight.

He did not understand. He did not want to.

Hands on his hips, pulling up his nightshirt, careful not to yank his ears as it went over his head and bundled up around his forearms. Maia kicked and twisted, but Tethimar moved his hands to Maia's shoulders, and it was like a rabbit trying to overpower a wolfhound. Tethimar might as well have been made from stone, weighted down by a mountain.

Maia was not strong, nor did he have physical endurance. After less than half a minute he collapsed, light-headed and trembling. His bones felt like they were made of starched linen gone damp. His ears were flat, down, the tips crushed against his hard pillow.

'Are you done?' Tethimar asked. Maia shuddered at the feel of rough hands on his skin, running down from his collar bones, brushing his nipples, over his stomach, to between his legs – Maia twisted violently, trying to force his knees between himself and Tethimar. Tethimar reached up and backhanded him across the face, hard.

Maia stopped struggling. Tethimar slapped him, then again, and again, until Maia's face was numb and he could not breathe. The gag pressed down against his tongue, filling his whole mouth. His nose was blocked. For a single moment Maia was absolutely certain that he would never take another breath again, and suffocate to death on the bed with Tethimar pressed against his naked skin, watching, and that thought terrified him beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

Then his nose cleared and Maia could breathe, and he sucked in great, needy lungfuls of air, sobbing tearlessly from terror and relief and the pain creeping across his face. The taste of blood seeped into his mouth.

'Maia,' said Tethimar, leaning down. 'Art thou done?'

Maia pressed his head against his arm, and did not offer resistance when his left leg was lifted to rest upon Tethimar's clothed shoulder, nor when Tethimar's finger, slick and cold, circled around his anus. The finger pressed against him, then inside. The undiluted shock of it, the raw feeling of violation, felt like a kick to the chest. Maia was dimly aware as his thoughts stalled and stopped, overruled by a base, instinctual terror that clenched his whole body tight in its grasp.

Tethimar twisted his finger, pumping it in and out in little, slow motions, until the knuckles of his fist rested against Maia's skin. The gentle sensation of something moving inside of him made Maia's gorge rise. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Closing his eyes, his breath whistled; he could not move, frozen stiff, ears rigid. Pumping his finger in and out, slowly, carefully, Tethimar stroked the skin behind Maia's balls with his thumb. It was almost possible to get used to, Maia tried to think, squeezing his eyes shut too hard and watching the patterns of colour on the back of his eyelids. The words slipped around in his head. It did not hurt. Perhaps he could get used to this and simply wait until it was over.

Tethimar crooked his finger, and the motion caused a jolt, like static electricity, that made Maia suck in a sharp breath, his jaw clenched around the gag. Tethimar touched something sensitive inside him, then touched it again, that made Maia tremble and the muscles of his back and legs tense and jump. With the touch came a feeling that took Maia several seconds to understand: pleasure.

His hips bucked of their own accord and Maia whined, desperate and unsteady as Tethimar pushed in a second finger. The stretch burnt and meshed with unwanted desire as again, Tethimar curled his fingers. Maia arched his back, kicking weakly, but Tethimar held him in place. His breathing became panting, hysterical; he felt like he was suffocating. This was wrong. What was wrong with him?

The pain eased, even as Maia tried to cling to it. The fingers pushed in, pulled out, slow and steady, again and again for what felt like hours. Then: a third finger.

 _Please stop,_ Maia cried in his head. _Please stop it, please, please–_

He ached, all over, as if on the morning after a beating. He couldn't breathe properly. And violation, the feeling of being peeled open and every last part of him examined by scornful, personal eyes. Like he'd stuck his hand in filth, only not his hand, all of his insides were now wrong and dirty–

Massaged by Tethimar's fingertips, Maia's insides felt hot. His penis was becoming erect. How could he? Why was his body betraying him?

'We will admit,' Tethimar said, 'that to begin with we had thought thee to be ugly, an unattractive goblin and no more.' His voice was rough and low. 'But we see now that we were mistaken. Thou'rt lovely indeed.'

Maia had not been called lovely since his mother had died. The word caused a knot in his gut and a swell in his throat that made him afraid of throwing up and choking to death on his own vomit.

He moaned through his gag as Tethimar took Maia's penis with his spare hand, stroking it loosely. His fingers were wet with some sort of oil or balm, and he pressed his thumb gently against the base of the shaft and dragged it upwards to circle around the head. He rubbed the slit and played with the foreskin. Under his ministrations, Maia's hips jerked and he grew hard. Tethimar's other hand toyed with his anus, stretching him out.

 _I will orgasm_ , Maia thought, as if from a great distance. _He will force me to orgasm_. He felt like the bed beneath him was insubstantial, and at any moment he would fall into a void. He could not move his legs.

Tethimar's fingers pulled from Maia's anus, leaving it feeling horribly and absurdly empty, cold to the air. Then something else pressed there, far larger than fingers, and hot. Tethimar's hand did not slow in its work on Maia's penis even as he pushed his own inside of Maia.

The pain was not significant among the rest of the pains he had suffered throughout his life. It still bludgeoned him, as if it had torn straight through his guts, breaking his spine. Maia's legs trembled and clung to Tethimar's waist.

'Ah! Thou clenchest our prick with each stroke of our hand,' Tethimar said, moving his hips. 'Does thy skill come from thy goblin blood, or art thou well practiced? Did thy cousin Setheris Nelar take thee to his bed and fuck thee? A sore loss if not.'

Maia hurt. The breath after breath he sucked in desperately dried his nose and throat, making them burn. His face rubbed against his upper arm in time with Tethimar's thrusts, skin sweaty and cold, sticking to and pulling his hair. It hurt and Maia did not know what was happening. What Tethimar was doing was not what Tethimar did, was not what happened, could not be understood, was absurd and wrong in every way. It carried on and did not stop.

As Tethimar had forced himself into Maia, Maia had lost his hardness – yet it returned, coaxed back by Tethimar's wet hand and strong fingers. A whine was forced from his nose as the pressure there increased like a spring being compressed, and the urge to orgasm grew. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of it, but this least of all.

The sound of flesh on cloth, and flesh on wet flesh, filled Maia's ears, made into a cacophony by his own heartbeat and ragged breathing, and Tethimar's breathing. The bed creaked in time with the beat of Tethimar's thrusts. Maia tried to press his arms against his ears, but his muscles, trembling in pain, could not hold the position. His back felt like it was broken. His shoulders burnt with a savage agony, deep down in the bone. Each thrust hurt like the jab of a hot poker in his guts.

Maia orgasmed feeling as if Tethimar had reached into his body and yanked out a fistful of insides. He came onto his stomach, hot on his cold skin.

Tethimar continued thrusting, but at a faster pace than before, leaning forward with one hand on the mattress while gripping Maia's hip with the other. Maia lay still, letting himself be jostled. He felt like food dropped on a dirty floor, like a layer inside of him had gone bad and needed scraping off. Thrusts losing their rhythm, Tethimar slowed, then stopped. After a few moments he pulled away, breathing hard, and moved to sit near the head of the bed. Maia flinched away as best he could, dry, itchy eyes still shut, but his body would not work properly. Very gently, Tethimar undid the gag and pulled it away, the fabric crusted and sticking to Maia's skin around the corners of his mouth. His hand lingered on Maia's face, stroking the length of one ear. Maia shuddered as he gasped for air, his ears flicking uncontrollably away, but Tethimar gripped his ear, his fingertips pulling at it then massaging the muscle near the base. It made Maia whine, the sound breaking his rapid, unsteady breaths.

'Stop,' he managed, but the word prevented him from breathing. His throat was raw and the urge to be sick filled him. He tried to shake his head but Tethimar's grip stopped him. Maia's eyes opened without him meaning them to, gritty and sore, squinting in the lamplight.

'Thou art very beautiful, Maia,' Tethimar said. 'Never forget it.' He had a glass of water in his hand, pressing the rim gently to Maia's lips. Maia shut his lips and eyes as hard as he could, even as his head pounded and throat begged for liquid. The glass disappeared. A few second later, wet fingers ran along Maia's lower lip. Water dribbled down his chin and into the corners of his mouth. Reflexively, Maia licked his lips. He licked Tethimar's fingers, which had been dipped back in the water and replaced at his mouth. The awareness of what he was doing screamed in the back of his head, but something foreign seemed to be controlling him. His eyes opened. Tethimar withdrew his fingers, then pressed them, dripping wet, onto Maia's dry tongue. Maia's lips closed around them and he sucked at Tethimar's fingertips. Tethimar's hand on his ear curled around Maia's jawline, so that his thumb was free to stroke the length his trembling ear.

Maia's mouth was no longer dry, but his thirst seemed all the worse for it. 'Please,' he begged. Tethimar wet his fingers and offered them, and Maia opened his mouth to let them in, suckle them desperately, and relinquished them only when they pulled away. 'Please let me drink.'

Sighing, Tethimar caressed Maia's ear and offered his wet fingers again. Drops of water fell on Maia's neck, and he opened his mouth without further prompting.

'Please.' His voice cracked, breath hitching with the beginnings of sobs. In the dim yellow light Tethimar's blue eyes were black and inscrutable. After a long moment he held the glass to Maia's lips, and Maia drank, spluttering as he tried to suck in more water than the gentle angle of the glass allowed. Then the water was finished and Maia tried to hold back a moan at its loss. Tethimar hushed him as he refilled the glass, and held it out again to let Maia drink.

As if suddenly bored, Tethimar stood, and undid the knot binding Maia's wrists. Maia flinched, a whole-body motion, and after a pause he rolled away, hands cradled to his chest and shoulders hunched in agony. He fell off the bed in his haste, stumbling to get up, and pressed himself to the wall. His nightshirt he pulled down over his head from where it bunched over his arms, biting his lip against the pain. He was panting, head spinning. He felt violently sick. The door closed behind Tethimar with a thud and the scape of a lock, casting the room into darkness.

Maia crouched down, gulping for air. He rubbed his ear until it hurt, but could still feel Tethimar's hand on it. He could feel Tethimar's hands on his hips, and his chest, and stomach, and–

He scraped at himself with the palms of his hands, sweat sticking the fabric of the nightshirt to his skin. Tethimar had – that didn't happen. It couldn't have happened. _Do not think about it,_ Maia told himself. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He hurt. He felt hollow, disgusting, his insides the pulpy, wet flesh of an apple that had started to rot. He needed to get it out, to scour away his own guts and skin.

He was panicking, he realised abstractedly. The chill of the air pinched his damp skin. Reaching forward, Maia gripped the uppermost blanket from the bed and tugged it around himself as he curled up in the corner of the room. Nose dry and itching, Maia sniffed, which descended into a racking cough, throat raw and sticky. His heart beat like a moth. _Do not think about it._ He tucked his hands between his legs. _What_ _do_ _I do?_ He trembled uncontrollably. He thought of hiding under the bed, or inside the chest of drawers, or throwing himself out of the window. He could not seem to make himself move.

 

* * * * *

 

When Maia woke the room was light, empty, and silent. His whole body was stiff with cold, still hurting, but more dully than before. His feet were entirely numb, as were his back and buttocks where they had been pressed against the wall and floor. His heart was racing. After a long time Maia crawled to a stand. He changed back into the day clothes, and stuffed his nightshirt, crusty with sweat, between the mattress and the headboard. He tried to comb his hair, teasing out the snarls, but his fingers were clumsy and wouldn't stop shaking. His shoulders hurt from holding his arms up. After a few minutes Maia stopped trying.

He used the bedpan, his urine a dark brown inside the stained pottery. It stank; he covered it with the thin pillow off the bed, which only helped a little. What if Tethimar came again? Maia pushed the bedpan against the wall with one foot. Perhaps, to better hide the smell, he could put it in the chest of drawers.

The rope was still in the chest of drawers. Maia froze, save for his shivering, and for his ears, which lowered slowly.

It was clear that if he were alive he would remain a threat to Idra's rule. Even if no one wanted him on the throne, he could still be used as a figurehead for political malcontent. Maia's ears flicked and he swallowed, the movement breaking him out of his stillness. Idra deserved better. Maia turned to the window, then back again, then paced a small circle. The noble thing to do, then, would be to take himself entirely out of the equation as soon as possible. Before Sheveän could. He could be the one to ease Idra's burden, even just a little. Some small, last way to be useful.

 _But._.. Maia stood in the corner furthest from the chest of drawers, facing the wall. He traced the brickwork with his fingertips. _I don't want to. I don't want to die._

The room stank and Maia's head swam. He crouched, trying to warm his bare feet with his hands. He was so cold. He couldn't stop shivering. Why hadn't they got rid of him yet? What were they waiting for? His heart pattered in his chest, fast but faint, and Maia put his head down against his knees. The motion pulled at the skin of his lips, which cracked and started bleeding. Without warning he retched, violently, but nothing came up. Another retch forced him to his hands and knees, face low, almost touching the floor.

 _Why didn't they just kill thee?_ Maia thought wretchedly. _It would have been kinder._

The room was getting darker, grey and grainy, night approaching. _How long will they keep thee here for?_ _What if Tethimar_ _returns?_ Maia wrapped the blanket around his shoulders before sitting down in the corner of the room, and tried to pull it to cover his legs. His feet didn't quite fit inside, unless he pulled them close to his body, but that was painful in ways he did not want to touch. Panting, Maia straightened his legs.

There were two other blankets on the bed, but he did not get them. They faded from view as the sun set and the room fell into darkness. _What if Tethimar returns?_ Maia thought, and could not stop thinking. The blackness and silence closed in around him, the coldness gripping his bones. At some point he stopped shivering. Inside his chest his heart raced, but his breathing was shallow and slow. Maia tried to count his breaths, but could not, the numbers slipping from him.

The morning came in slow, small degrees, and Maia could not tell if he had slept or not. His eyes ached to open them. He felt like his body had gone stiff, like plants frozen in an overnight frost, and moving would snap and break him. The thirst tore into his throat and the inside of his chest, never not in the forefront of his mind, making him feel hollowed out and aching, enough to drive him mad. Thinking he saw movement outside the window, Maia tried to stand, but dizziness gripped him and he stumbled back down. He lay down on the stone floor and closed his eyes, the blanket twisted around his legs. Time passed.

Maia did not flinch as the door was kicked down, but his ears pulled back as shouted words bludgeoned him.

'We found him! We found the emperor! Get a doctor down here, now! Hurry!'

Burning hot hands touched his neck and forehead. The voice quietened, softening.

'Serenity, hold on. All will be well, we promise. All will be well.'


	2. Chapter 2

'Poison?'  
  
Maia let himself be bundled up in strong arms. He refused to open his eyes, lay limp and cold, letting the hands under his thighs and shoulders hold him close to a hard, armoured body. Heavy footsteps, shaking him up and down. A staircase, then another. Bright light through his eyelids, turning the whole world red.

'Clear the area! Take him to the Alcethmeret. Is the doctor coming?'

Coldness. More stairs. And suddenly a smell, familiar — it sunk in even as the word did not. The Alcethmeret. As close a thing to home as he had now. Maia opened his eyes. Briefly, he saw a shocked face as he was rushed up the spiral staircase.

A bed. His bed. And, standing beside it, Cala and Beshelar.

Maia's face crumpled. They were alive. They were here with him again. It would be all right. Without thinking he reached out a hand, fingers clawed and unable to move. Cala grasped it tightly, though Maia could not feel the touch. Cala's face was sallow, but he was smiling and his eyes were wet. Beshelar bowed his head, but not before his eyes grazed the swollen marks on Maia's wrists.

Maia didn't notice the doctor, Ushenar, entering, but jerked away as the man's hand touched his forehead. Ushenar pulled back almost as quickly. 'Serenity,' he said with a wheeze in his voice. 'Forgive us, but we must examine you.'

Maia didn't react except to close his eyes, which ached. His skin prickled as if it were burning under midsummer sun. His heart pounded like a drum in his skull.

'Serenity,' Ushenar said as he gently opened Maia's mouth and felt around his neck. 'Were you given aught to drink?'

Maia nodded. He wanted Cala's hand back. He couldn't remember when he'd let go. He wanted to cry but couldn't.

'An exhaustive asphyxia, due to prolonged exposure to cold, with dehydration...' Ushenar was saying. 'Put the fire out! Too much heat will sap what vitality he has left. Bring up a cool tea and honeyed wine, and warm his clothes and blankets in preparation.'

The noise of his edocharei bustling about the room. Had he got so used to them that he hadn't even noticed their presence?

Then: 'Remove his clothes. He needs to be re-acted with a tincture to excite the blood.'

For a split second Maia watched, frozen in place, as Nemer reached out to help him sit up. _They will see everything,_ Maia thought with a sudden, terrible certainty. _They will know._ 'Don't,' he blurted, and Nemer flinched back in surprise, ears flat. 'We are fine. We do not need to be undressed.' His words slurred.

'Serenity,' Esha said, at an obvious loss. As if to say more he opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking. He glanced at Ushenar.

'We assure you, Serenity,' Ushenar said, 'you need to be unclothed to be treated. Surely you desire to be in your own clothes again?'

'No,' Maia said, louder, even though it hurt his chest to speak.

A pause, then he closed his eyes. Ushenar said: 'An exhaustive asphyxia can bring delirium, Serenity, that may be confusing you. We assure you that this is necessary.'

Maia shook his head, which pounded, and his heart beat rabbit-fast in his chest. His stomach curled, ready to heave at any second. 'We do not wish it.' _Why can they not leave me alone?_

'Do you perhaps have another affliction we do not know about?' Ushenar said cautiously, and his eyes flickered to the red, puffy skin of Maia's wrists. 'There is nothing you need hide from us.'

' _No._ '

'Serenity—'

' _No one_ has done _anything_ to us!'

The room spun. Maia put his stiff hands over his face. Everything was unravelling. Dimly he could hear Ushenar say: 'The asphyxia has confused His Serenity's senses and, with too many people in the room, provoked an agitation. We need you all to leave. One may enter to bring in the necessary items, but knock first. Are we understood?'

Audibly reluctant, Esha and Nemer voiced their understanding and left. A beat of silence, then, quiet and with a deadly calm, Beshelar said: 'We will not leave.' He spoke in the plural.

'No,' Ushenar said. 'No, we suspected you would not.'

'Serenity.' It was Cala, and Maia lowered his hands from his face. Cala was kneeling by the bed, at Maia's side, and his eyes through the tears were fierce. 'You need to heal. Let us, your First Nohecharei, do this for you. I swear we will not fail you again.'

 _They will know what happened_ , Maia thought, dully. _What will they think of me? But I trust them all the same._

There was a knock on the door. Beshelar answered it, letting no one in but returning with a large pot of camomile tea, which he poured. He let Maia take the cup from him, if a little reluctantly. The tea was burning hot on Maia's lips and fingertips, but cool in the back of his mouth. It tasted better than anything he had ever had ever drunk before, glorious, lighting his whole body with a heady pleasure of relieved thirst. Maia spilt half the cup down his front and drained the rest in two unsteady gulps.

'Only one at a time,' Ushenar said as he stopped Beshelar from refilling the cup, and Maia hated him thoroughly for it. 'Your stomach is empty, and filling it too quickly, Serenity, will only further your illness.'

Before Maia could protest, Cala touched his sleeve with long fingers and asked, softly: 'Will you let us?'

A pause — then, very slowly, Maia nodded.

Beshelar held him upright whilst Cala undid the laces of Maia's shirt, pulling it away as if he were made from spun sugar. Maia closed his eyes as Cala removed his trousers and drawers, hands never touching his skin. At Ushenar's instructions Cala rubbed his chest and stomach, and Beshelar his hands, feet and ears, using flannels damp with a tincture that made Maia's skin prickle uncomfortably. After a while they stopped and let Maia drink another cup of tea and, afterwards, a few sips of honeyed wine. This time, his fingers could close around the cup.

Cala and Beshelar started again immediately after, pretending to ignore Maia's flinches whenever Cala reached too far down his belly, or Beshelar too far up his legs. They worked in silence; Maia watched their faces, their downward eyes and neutral ears, both of them intent on their work. He could not tell what emotion was welling in his chest. An ache, low and painful, that crept up his throat and behind his eyes. _They must know. Why do they not say anything?_

More tea and wine, then at Ushenar's instructions, Beshelar lifted Maia up and Cala dressed him in a warmed silk nightgown, dressing gown, and padded white jacket, putting stockings on his feet and cocooning him in blankets. 'Do not fall asleep yet, Serenity,' Cala whispered, and Maia nodded obediently.

Cala and Beshelar stepped back as Ushenar returned to Maia's side to press hot fingers against Maia's neck and ears and test the strength of his fingers and toes. 'Serenity,' Ushenar said, bowing, 'we are pleased to say that your vitality is quickly returning. We suggest bed-rest for today, with frequent but small breaks for tea, honeyed wine, and later this evening, a thin broth. Under this regime we judge you will be entirely restored within two or three days. We will talk to Esaran about your diet, if it please you.'

'Yes, please,' Maia said, and did not care that it was entirely the wrong thing for an emperor to say, only glad that at last Ushenar bowed and left the room. Beshelar went with him, but returned after barely a minute.

'We have talked to Ushenar,' Beshelar said. 'He will not spread gossip of your — health.' The tone of his voice made Maia tense; his ears lowered, and he could not look up from the blankets.

A silence. Then, Beshelar blurted, 'Serenity. Someone hurt you.' It was not a question and Maia did not reply. He was aware of Cala, frozen stiff and watching Beshelar intently.

'Tell me who,' Beshelar said, his voice rough with anguish. 'We will—'

Cala grabbed Beshelar's shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble. 'I cannot let this pass!' Beshelar snarled, shaking Cala off. 'I will not—'

' _You will,_ ' Cala said, and the fury in his voice was tangible.

Beshelar jerked back, and for a split second Maia was certain that Cala had cast a spell on him. Then Beshelar snapped around to face Maia and prostrated himself.

'Please forgive us, Serenity,' he said, tight and trembling with emotion. 'We overstepped ourselves. We will not again.'

'Where is Csevet?' Maia blurted, the first words that came to mind. When Beshelar did not move, he added: 'Please stand.'

'Serenity.' It was Cala who spoke, as Beshelar got up slowly, eyes still on the floor. 'We believe he is in the outer chamber. Would you like us to retrieve him?'

'Please do,' Maia said, without knowing whether he meant it or not.

Csevet entered without his normal armful of paper, and the look on his face upon seeing Maia was pure, boyish happiness. 'Serenity! I am — that is,' he said, and blushed deeply, ears twitching and making his earrings jangle. 'We are glad you are recovering.' He looked like he'd wanted to say more, but his thoughts had derailed; he closed his mouth and bowed. 'The household is on fire with gossip about your health — we can only imagine what the rest of the court is like. If you would allow us, we can collect a report from Ushenar and release it in an official capacity.'

'Thank you,' Maia said, attempting to smile back and only barely succeeding. He hesitated, then said: 'If you could show it to us, first? Only we are almost entirely well and do not wish for anyone to be alarmed unnecessarily.'

Csevet blinked at the request, but nodded almost straight away. 'Of course,' he said, mildly. 'Was there anything else you needed?'

'Will you tell us what happened?' Maia glanced at Cala, then to the fireplace behind Csevet. He felt inexplicably guilty for asking. 'Dazhis... and what of Sheveän and Chavar? Is Telimezh all right?'

'Serenity,' Csevet said, and paused. 'It was largely in part to Prince Idra Drazhar that you were returned at all. He was the one to contest the authenticity of the abdication papers, then force the issue of your disappearance. When on the second day Princess Sheveän withheld the papers from examination, and none of the guards who had supposedly escorted you to the airship to the monastery agreed on who had been the ones to take you, it all fell apart. Princess Sheveän and Osmin Bazhevin, and the Lord Chancellor and the majority of his staff, have been detained. This includes, Serenity, Setheris Nelar. The Witness for the Prelacy is also guilty, though the rest of the Corazhas are uncompromised. Our staff continue to pursue the case.'

'Dazhis is in the Mazan’theileian.' Cala continued from where Csevet stopped, his voice straight but dull. 'He will commit revethvoran three nights from now. It is delayed, but the situation is... unusual. Telimezh has recovered well and, if you permit it, will remain your Second Nohecharis.'

'Ah,' said Maia. Then, after a pause: 'What should we do?'

'Serenity?' Maia could not tell whether Csevet were faking confusion or not.

'What do we do? Now? Surely there is... something that needs doing. We need to appoint a new Lord Chancellor. And there will be trials. And the Corazhas and audiences we missed.' The words came out in a rush, leaving him breathless. 'There are days' worth of correspondence to catch up on. And Idra—'

'Serenity!' Csevet interrupted him, looking mortified to do so, rushing a bow with his ears dipped. 'What you need to do now is rest. You are still recovering. All of these things may be put off until tomorrow at the earliest.'

'No. We cannot be in bed whilst — and lie here doing nothing,' Maia said, and his voice cracked. 'Please do not argue with us.'

There was a significant pause, and in it Maia wondered whether he physically could get out of bed — whether he wanted to or not. His hands hurt after clenching the bedsheets for even a few moments. He did not think he had the strength to even sit up.

'Serenity,' Csevet said, after sharing a long look with Cala. 'Whatever you do, you must stay in bed. If you become chilled now, you greatly risk your heath. But we will bring up some of the more urgent letters, if you demand it.'

'Yes. Thank you.'

Csevet left, and Maia glanced at Beshelar, standing straight and stiff at the doorway. He was staring into the middle distance, blank-faced, and Maia closed his eyes until Csevet returned and handed him a small handful of letters. 'Serenity,' Csevet said, hesitantly. 'We did not say before but there is an... issue with Dach'osmin Csethiro Ceredin. Since your kidnapping she is reported to have been visiting Princess Sheveän multiple times. And, although we have no proof either way, the rumour goes that she was attempting to broker an agreement whereby her engagement to you would be nullified, and Prince Idra would receive the Ceredada's support. For caution's sake, she was arrested along with Princess Sheveän, despite Prince Idra's protests. We suspect that this letter from Prince Idra addresses this.'

Maia took the letter with a heavy, tight feeling settling into his chest. _Canst say that thou art truly surprised? She is right to not want to marry the likes of thee._ 'Thank you,' he said reflexively as he broke the seal and started to read.

The letter was in Idra's own hand, clearly written in a hurry.

 

_To his Imperial Serenity, Edrehasivar VII, greetings._

_To hear that you are freed brings us great joy and relief, though we wait and pray for news upon your health. We write to convey to you our uttermost loyalty and support in this time as in all times, and to ask what forgiveness is just for our unwilling part in our mother's crimes. We have nothing but confidence in and desire for your continued reign._

_It has come to us that Dach'osmin Csethiro Ceredin has been detained. While this was entirely prudent on what knowledge the Guard had, we must beg you to allow an audience to either ourself on her behalf, or to the both of us. We promise to you that she is innocent and that during these past days she worked with us only to restore you as emperor, whatever anyone else has to say of her motives._

_With great regret for the past, and hope for the future,_

_Idra, Prince of the Untheileneise Court, your cousin_

 

Maia struggled through the letter, then struggled through it again. His heart was constricting in his throat. 'Csevet,' he said. 'You said Idra supported our return?'

'Yes, Serenity,' Csevet said, from where he sat at the little desk by the fireplace, already writing. His ears were tilted slightly in curiosity, but his eyes were cautious. 'He was the one to initiate the investigation into the coup, directly leading to your recovery. He also refused to allow the preparation of his coronation ceremony to start until he had got to the bottom of the matter, as it were.'

Maia nodded, and said: 'We would like to speak with him, and Dach'osmin Ceredin, together.'

Csevet blinked. 'Serenity,' he said. 'We will arrange that.'

'Now. We wish to speak now. In the Tortoise Room.'

Csevet straightened, and paused. 'Serenity, we do not know whether that is wise—'

'You are not hired to tell us what is _wise_ ,' Maia snapped, suddenly and uncontrollably furious. His hands clenched into fists and his ears flattened, and he could not make either of them relax. 'Will you do it, or will we be forced to find someone else who is actually loyal and obedient to his emperor?'

Csevet stood only to prostrate himself, then left. Maia did not see his face. Maia's heart was pounding and his breath coming in gasps which would not slow.

'We wish to bathe,' Maia said to no one in particular, 'and dress for the audience. Where are our edocharei?'

He could not bring himself to look at either Cala or Beshelar whilst he waited.

The bath water felt scalding hot, but Maia bit the inside of his lip and did not complain. His edocharei worked in uncharacteristic silence, and he refused to let himself flinch from their touch. When they dressed him, his limbs were unwillingly stiff, and the thought came to him that it must be like trying to dress a coat stand. His face continued to burn with the heat from the bath, and when he looked into a mirror, he saw that his cheekbones were coloured faintly with red and purple and yellow. Tentatively, he touched the colour, and the gentle press of his fingertips hurt.

Bruises. Maia stared a moment longer. He hadn't noticed those before. But, of course, it only made sense. Tethimar had—

Maia turned abruptly from the mirror, jerking his hair out of Esha's hands, his half-made braid unravelling. Esha made a sound, a sharp intake of breath, but nothing more. He adjusted his grip and continued to work.

Cala insisted on pressing another glass of wine on him before Maia went into the Tortoise Room, and it coated his throat with an unpleasant, cloying film. Despite his hot bath, multiple padded layers and the large fires in the grates of each room, Maia felt himself start to shiver. He prayed his legs would not give way as he made it down the stairs one slow step at a time. Cala and Beshelar walked behind him like a funeral procession. Two armed guards stood outside the Tortoise Room doors, and Maia ignored them.

Idra and Csethiro were already present, and both prostrated themselves with the clean movements of the well-practiced. 'Please be seated,' Maia said as soon as he had found a chair and sat on it, trying to hide his breathlessness and only making it worse.

Csethiro rose a fraction of a second before Idra did, and she held her head and ears up as she sat herself gracefully. Her emerald dress was creased, and she wore no jewellery save her earrings and the combs in her casual braid. Idra wore the correct clothes for an audience with his emperor, but his eyes were tired and anxious.

'Serenity,' Idra started. 'We are truly grateful that you were returned unharmed.'

'Cousin,' Maia corrected, with the barest of smiles. 'We are still cousins.'

'Cousin Maia,' Idra said, and smiled tentatively back. 'Thank you for seeing us so soon.'

Maia nodded, and said: 'We trust you and your sisters are well?'

'Yes, thank you for asking. They are... truthfully, unsettled, and upset, but it will pass. They are strong.' There was a note of pride in Idra's voice: small, but present.

'That is good to hear,' Maia said, and though tired, meant it. 'Now — we believe there is more to hear on Dach'osmin Ceredin's case?'

Idra nodded. 'A lot,' he said. 'If you will allow her to speak for herself, we believe she can explain things better than we can.'

'Serenity,' Csethiro said, at Maia's nod. Ignoring how both Cala and Beshelar visibly tensed at the movement, she withdrew something long and thin from a hidden fold in her dress sleeve. She stood. 'May I?' she asked, offering the object to Maia.

Beshelar strode forward without prompting and took the item from Csethiro's outstretched hand. A brief inspection, then he returned and handed it to Maia.

Maia took it, and blinked to discover vellum under his fingers, rolled into a tube and flattened. Unrolling it, he found himself entirely unsurprised at the sight of the abdication paper he had signed four nights ago. He looked up at Csethiro.

'Serenity,' she said, voice unwavering, and curtsied before sitting. 'Yesterday morning we found ourself catching sight of this entirely useless document. It is clearly forged, invalid, and has no place in the official archives. Still, we suspect it may be of some minor interest to you.'

A small breath escaped from Maia's lungs, a wheeze as much a laugh. He did not dare look at either Cala or Beshelar. Csevet would know what to do, would say something to prompt him — but then, Csevet wasn't here. 'We thank you,' Maia said, looking back at Csethiro. 'It... is indeed of interest to us.'

Csethiro smiled, very minutely. 'We are grateful to be of service,' she said.

'How did you..?'

Csethiro dipped her head. 'On the morning of your disappearance we were speaking to your sister and our friend the Archduchess Vedero,' she said. 'Who noted, quite rightly, that closeness between us and our betrothed's family is of high importance, so we went to speak with the Princess Sheveän. Serenity, we are only women, and we talked of little things. Feminine gossip, you see. It was during this time that we found ourself a friend in Prince Idra, who in passing directed our attention to the unfortunate state of the royal paperwork. And here we are.'

Maia's eyes flickered to Idra, who nodded, and said: 'It is as she says, Serenity.'

What should he do? Maia stared down at the creased vellum. By all accounts this was his signature and the deed were valid, and surely this made Csethiro and Idra guilty of treason. But he could hardly condemn them. They had, after all, been working for his own sake. Yet who else could he seek advice from on this matter? Was he himself not now implicit in the crime?

'Who else knows of this?' Maia asked. He felt light-headed and very cold, and he realised suddenly that the moment he'd read Idra's letter, he knew what he would do.

'No one, Serenity,' Idra said.

Csethiro murmured her agreement: 'We in this room are the only ones.'

'Very well,' Maia said, and handed the vellum to Cala. 'Dach'osmin Ceredin, we thank you for your actions in this, and see now that you were detained unjustly. You are free to go.'

Csethiro stood and curtsied deeply. 'Thank you,' she said, and waited for Idra to leave before her. Then she stopped in the doorway, and turned to look back. 'Serenity,' she said, her voice steely. 'We _are_ glad of your return. Even more so than not having to suffer Sheveän's priggish face had Idra been crowned.'

Maia, caught utterly off-guard, smiled. 'That means much to me,' he said, and waited as she curtsied once more and left, footsteps receding slowly. Outside Beshelar was talking to the guards who had brought Csethiro here, telling them of their emperor's judgement. Maia closed his eyes, distantly thankful that he would not have to speak to them himself.

He opened his eyes to Cala's drawn face. 'Serenity,' Cala said, very gently, kneeling before Maia.

'We do not—' Maia started, then stopped. He felt sick. His smile was gone. 'We are not stupid. She did well to get in a position to land on her feet either way the situation fell. But we do not want — we need to trust that she is not against us. We need to. We cannot have another enemy.'

'For what it is worth, Serenity, I would have made the same judgement,' Cala said. 'Come, we must return to your chambers.'

'We should work,' Maia whispered. 'There is still so much to do.'

'All of which can be done from your chambers,' Cala said, and stood up to take a step back as Maia got to his feet.

The bones in Maia's legs felt soft. He got as far as the doorway before they gave out, his vision darkening so quickly and smoothly that he barely recognised it was gone before he found himself kneeling on the floor, blinking calmly into the blackness. He realised hands were supporting him from slumping over entirely, but he couldn't seem to move or speak. His heartbeat was the only sound he could hear.

His voice came back first. '—are fine, we are fine,' Maia heard himself saying. Then he looked up into Beshelar's face, close to his own, and jerked back, ignoring how Beshelar's expression took on a stricken edge. Maia shied away from Beshelar as he stumbled upright, leaning against the doorframe. 'We merely tripped,' he said, and drew in a trembling breath. 'We are fine.'

He did not wait for either Cala or Beshelar to respond, and instead pushed himself off the doorframe and forced his legs to walk upstairs. He was panting long before he reached his chambers.

Csevet must have heard him coming, for he was by the side of the desk in the outer chamber as Maia entered, already kneeling, head bowed. Maia paused, tongue thick and useless in his mouth, but at that moment his edocharei entered. 'Serenity,' Avris said, with an anxious sort of fear in the angle of his ears. 'We have soup that was sent up from the kitchens, and tea. When do you wish to eat?'

'If you would dress us for bed,' Maia said, turning from Csevet, the words like defeat. 'We will eat there, and read some more of our letters.'

Maia let himself be ushered into the inner chamber. He stood obediently as he was undressed then dressed, his hair undone and redone, and himself pushed gently towards his bed, which had been warmed with at least three extra bricks. His dinner turned up in front of him as if he'd blinked it into existence, a clear beetroot soup, tangy and sweet and hot, and camomile tea afterwards. Maia fell asleep even as his edocharei were clearing away the dishes.

 

* * * * *

 

The dream Maia woke from felt important, but heavy, sticky, and gone before he could remember why. It felt very early. There was something tremendously wrong.

The memories of the past few days came back like oil, pouring into each other, and Maia closed his eyes tight against the wash of misery they brought. He sat up, struggling with the blankets, then the thick fabric of the bed hangings. It was later than he'd assumed: light was already starting to spread from behind the curtains. Cala was standing to face him, roused by the noise, his hands hovering uselessly.

'Serenity,' Cala said. 'Have you need of anything?'

'Why did no one wake us?' Maia said, vicious, then bit back any further words. He was being unfair. It was not their fault that he could not even stay awake.

'We did,' Cala said, in a careful voice, soft and slow and gentle. 'But you went straight back to sleep.'

A pause. Maia stared at him. He did not remember this at all. Why would Cala lie to him? And who could he trust if even Cala — Maia bit his lip, gripped by the sudden, terrible feeling that he and Cala were the only ones left in the world, and that Cala was lying to him.

 _No. Why would he lie? It is thine own mind that is wrong. It is thy fault._ 'Forgive me,' Maia muttered.

'There is nothing to forgive,' Cala said smoothly, and finally lowered his hands. 'Serenity, it is almost morning; should we raise your edocharei and Mer Aisava?'

Maia hesitated. In truth he felt almost completely restored, and he truly did not want to return to bed. But he did not want to face the day, either.

Cala saw, and understood. 'Or you may desire to sit a while yet,' he suggested. 'The sky is clear this morning and we think the sunrise will be a good one.' He smiled a little smile that wrinkled his eyes and made him look oddly handsome. 'There are few places in the court where one may see the sunrise as well as here.'

Maia nodded before he could stop himself. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes. Let us do that.' He spoke in the plural.

They sat on the window seat, close enough that their knees brushed, and watched the pink and orange and deep blue sky. Cala had insisted on wrapping Maia in blankets from the bed, and Maia, in retaliation, had opened one of the windows. The breeze that came in was like ice on his face, but clean, and wonderful.

They watched as the sun rose, as beautiful as Cala promised, and cast the white walls of the court in brilliant gold. The few clouds shone with light like fire before they were burnt away. It was not quite as magnificent as that sunrise in the airship, on that morning two months ago, but the freezing air stung Maia's eyes, and he felt himself crying.

After a few minutes Cala passed him a handkerchief. 'Come, Serenity,' he said. 'Your edocharei will be here soon.'

Maia nodded, and scrubbed at his face. By the time his edocharei entered, his eyes were dry, if a little red.

Dressed and washed, Maia went downstairs to the Tortoise Room, where Csevet was already working. 'Serenity,' he said, and bowed lowly as Maia entered. There were dark bags under his eyes. 'The Adremaza will be arriving shortly, to appoint you your Second Nohecharei. We have taken the opportunity to have Telimezh present at the same time, as we suspect you wish to speak with him before he starts his shift. The Corazhas are meeting afterwards at 11 o'clock to assign a new Lord Chancellor; it would be ideal if, beforehand, you had chosen a candidate to put forward. After luncheon there is a meeting with your own witness for the court case. Then, we have booked audiences to personally reassure several individuals, including your cousins Prince Idra and Princesses Ino and Mireän. If this please you, Serenity.'

It empathically did not please Maia — black dread that had been banished by the sunrise crawled back into his heart at the thought of his schedule, sparse though it was. Maia let out a slow breath. 'Very well,' he said, and meant to say something more — _Thank you,_ or, _we are grateful —_ but nothing came out.

Csevet's ears, already low, dipped further. 'Serenity,' he said, then dithered on his next words. 'Choosing a new Lord Chancellor may be put off until tomorrow or even the day after, as one is not strictly needed right now. Though we suggest — we — that is, appointing one sooner will mean that he can pick up more of the work that would otherwise fall to you, over these next few days.'

Maia nodded mechanically.

Csevet looked up at him, then down, then said very quickly: 'We know that — we came from the Lord Chancellor, Chavar, and — if you so desire, we will resign immediately.'

Shock jolted Maia like a cup of water in his face. A voice said inside his head: _he does not wish to serve thee any longer. He does not wish to be with thee._

'Is that—' The words stuck in Maia's throat. 'Is that what you wish?'

Csevet opened his mouth, then closed it. 'Our wishes are of no matter,' he said, blank-faced. 'It is what you want, Serenity.'

A long pause, as Maia first stood speechless, then attempted to hold back the words that flooded him. _Please, do not go. Please, do not leave me._

'We are ungrateful,' Maia said, barely more than a whisper. 'And ungracious. We are a poor emperor by all accounts. But — it is with you that I am better than what I would be. If you wish to leave then leave, and I will give you all the blessings I can — a good character at least. But I... do not wish it. Csevet, I very much wish for you to stay with me.'

At his first use of the informal, Beshelar had sucked in his breath between his teeth: audible, shocked disapproval. By the end, Maia did not dare take his eyes off Csevet, for fear of what he would see in the faces of his nohecharei.

Csevet's expression was nothing more than shock at first, and Maia couldn't stop the terrible feeling of the floor seeming to drop away from his feet. He'd spoken wrong. The thought of being hit came to him like muscle-memory and would not leave. His back tensed; his shoulders hunched. But Csevet's shock broke into a smile, weak at first, then growing, though he clearly tried to hide it. He blushed, pink like magnolia petals, and the colour spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 'Serenity,' he said. 'Of course. Of course I will.'

The relief swept through him like a strong wind. 'Thank you,' he said. 'We are... Csevet, we cannot say how glad that makes us.'

For a long second Csevet hesitated, as if wanting to say more. Then Beshelar cleared his throat, a deliberate, awkward noise. 'Serenity,' he said. 'The Adremaza is approaching.'

Csevet blushed even harder, and stepped back to his position behind the desk. For a moment, Maia could not tear his eyes off him. Then the Adremaza was at the door, and Maia turned automatically and bade him enter. With him came Telimezh and another figure, dressed in shabby blue. His new Second Nohecharis — no — _Nohecharo_.

The meeting seemed almost absurd, and Maia had to stop himself from breaking out into inappropriate giggles. He felt like a bubble, expanding out, getting thinner and thinner, waiting to pop. If Kiru Athmaza wanted to be a nohecharo — then why should she not? Why should Beshelar not be uncomfortable?

'We promise you will not regret your decision, Serenity,' Kiru said as she smiled. Maia smiled back tentatively.

He stopped smiling as the Adremaza resumed speaking. 'It is customary for the revethvoris to meet those he has wronged,' he said with a tone of regret in his voice. He continued to talk, but Maia couldn't focus on the words. He had almost forgotten Dazhis, and guilt hit him in the gut for it. And yet, he didn't want to go. He absolutely did not. Dazhis had betrayed him. He'd been the reason Tethimar had — tied him down and — his hands and —

'When?' Maia said abruptly at the next pause, then realised that the Adremaza might well have already said when, and opened his mouth to apologise. Except that the emperor did not apologise, so he stopped, shut his mouth, and turned his head to look away.

'Moonset, two nights from now,' the Adremaza said, and the pity in his tone made Maia want to snap at him, refuse to go — for he was the emperor, after all, and no one could order him, or force him to do what he did not want—

Only they could, and did, and Maia crossed his arms and clutched at the elbows of his sleeves. He did not want to do this. The Adremaza was looking at him, waiting for him to agree. Cala and Beshelar and Kiru and Telimezh were waiting for him. And it was his responsibility, anyway.

'Very well,' he managed, and turned his head further, staring at the wall to his right. His eyes traced the outline of the shelves, round and round.

In the corner of his vision, the Adremaza made a movement towards him, the start of a bow, and Maia flinched away before he could stop himself. At this movement, he saw all four of his nohecharei startle into readiness.

Maia forced his head around to face the Adremaza, though his eyes would not leave the carpet, and his ears burnt with embarrassment. 'Thank you,' he said. 'And Cala and Beshelar: we are sure that you are tired, after such a long shift.'

'Serenity,' Cala and Beshelar murmured together, and left. Maia did not let himself watch them go. He was suddenly very aware of Kiru, and the immense power within her short, slight form, as he turned to Csevet to discuss the election of the new Lord Chancellor.

 

* * * * *

 

The next morning started with a meeting with the new Lord Chancellor and Captain Orthema. 'To tie up any loose ends in the case against Princess Sheveän and Lord Chavar, Serenity,' Csevet had said.

Closing his eyes briefly as he sat, waiting for them to arrive, Maia felt sick with anticipation. He was painfully aware that he had told no one that Tethimar had sided with Sheveän and Chavar. The right moment to say so had never happened. What could he say? He had heard nothing from or of the Tethimada at all — Eshevis Tethimar had not even left the court. How could he be so confident? What if, because Maia had waited so long to say this, Berenar and Orthema did not believe him?

Cala and Beshelar must surely know what happened, Maia thought. But they do not know who. Not yet. They will know after this. Csevet, also. He felt the air in his lungs as if it were honey, burning his throat.

The meeting commenced, with Berenar and Orthema sitting next to each other in front of Maia, Cala and Beshelar standing at the door and Csevet behind the desk. The questioning was stilted, and after only a few minutes came the dreaded question:

'Did you see anyone else at all, apart from Chavar, Sheveän and the armsmen?'

'Only —' His mouth was dry. Maia felt the hard knot in his chest grow. 'Only Eshevis Tethimar.'

There was a clatter at the side of the room — Csevet, ears flat, held his pen to the desk as though it were trying to jump up at him. His eyes were wild as they met Maia's. A second passed, and Maia knew that Csevet understood what had happened.

'Please forgive us,' Csevet managed, though it sounded like he had just been half-strangled to death, and he looked no better. Maia realised all of a sudden that everyone was looking at Csevet, but he could not break eye contact with him. Maia's heart beat dully in his ears.

Csevet stood and bowed deeply. He swept out of the room.

'Serenity,' Lord Berenar said, in the silence that followed. 'We will make sure that Tethimar is arrested immediately. Was there anyone else...?'

A long pause, in which Maia carefully watched the space where Csevet had been. 'Why did you not say this sooner, Serenity?' Orthema asked.

Maia ignored him. Then, as if hearing someone else speak through his own mouth, Maia said: 'There was no one else. Tethimar brought water, and spoke only to gloat, late on the second day. He did not talk of anyone save for Sheveän, and her only in passing.'

Another pause. Maia drew in a shuddering breath, and did not look at any of the faces turned expectantly to him. It had not, technically, been a lie. Why did it feel like he were lying? 'He said nothing of worth,' Maia said, more harshly than he'd intended, and stood. 'We have much yet to do, and if you have no further questions, we adjourn this meeting. Good day.'

If it looked like he were running away, Maia did not care. His skin was crawling. He felt like there were something unclean deep inside of him. In the hallway a courtier bowed and said something to him, but Maia did not stop, not even to turn and see who had spoken. He felt like he were swimming in a strong current, obedient to its whims, and if he were to try and fight it he would be cast under and drowned.

Why? Hadn't he been better that morning? Why was it bad again?

'Shut the grilles, please,' Maia said into the air as he passed up the stairs of the Alcethmeret. Beshelar's footsteps peeled away and the clang of iron that followed came as a comfort, a small easing of the knot inside Maia's chest.

He had been intending to go straight to his private chambers, but Maia stopped outside the Tortoise Room, abrupt enough that Cala almost walked straight into his back. Csevet sat at the desk inside, looking down at a spread of papers. His hair had become loosened from its braids. His ears were low, and flicked as though they were being rained upon.

'Csevet—' Maia didn't know why he spoke; he hadn't the faintest idea what he was going to say afterwards. At his name, Csevet startled, and stood up almost hard enough to knock the chair over. Without looking anywhere but the floor, he came around to the side of the desk and prostrated himself. He did not get back up.

'Csevet,' Maia said again, throat painfully tight. 'Please stand.'

Csevet got up to kneel, but no further. His head was still bowed. 'Serenity,' he said, thickly. 'Our conduct was inadmissible. We have no excuse for — for the unacceptable standard of our behaviour. We will gladly receive any punishment you see fit.'

'I told you to stand.' Maia's voice was high and unsteady. Csevet tensed visibly, but stood, if slowly. Maia watched him, distantly aware of Cala ushering him gently into the room and following with Beshelar at his heels. Beshelar shut the door with uncharacteristic quietness.

'You knew that Tethimar—' Maia said in the following silence, but trailed off. He did not have the words. Instead he sat down gracelessly in one of the chairs edging the room, and looked at his hands, the rings adorning his fingers. It had been three days. Why was he not better?

'We dealt with him once, a long time ago,' Csevet said, then added hurriedly with flattened ears when he saw Maia stiffen: 'He frightened us, Serenity, nothing more.'

 _Has Tethimar been aught but a wonder tale villain to fight against and frighten us? My sister Vedero, Paru Tethimin, ourself, and now Csevet also. Who else has suffered under his hand?_ Maia thought, wearily. 'Will you tell me?' he said, and regretted speaking as soon as he finished. _What right hast thou to know? Why desirest to know at all?_

'He did not harm me, or at least, not directly,' Csevet said, almost managing to keep his voice steady. 'But it is still a foul story.'

'If dost not wish to tell it, I will not hold it against thee, and never ask it of thee again,' Maia said. _Believe me. Do not tell me unwillingly._ 'But if thou wouldst, I will hear it, however foul.'

'Serenity, I would tell you anything,' Csevet said, and sighed, a small, quiet exhale. He glanced briefly at Cala and Beshelar, then back to Maia.

'I was sent to Eshoravee, a manor belonging to the Tethimada, to deliver a message to the Duke Tethimel,' Csevet said, looking away. 'There were ferocious storms, and Eshoravee is more a fortress than anything else.' His tale was wound out slowly and hesitantly, if sparse on the detail, and eventually his eyes relaxed a little and his ears no longer brushed his pale braids. He still watched the other side of the room, careful not to catch sight of Maia, and his delicate hands twisted together in unease.

When he finished, Maia allowed himself to nod, just once. As he spoke, he did not let himself look at Cala and Beshelar. 'Thank you; it means much to me. And — what you think that Tethimar did to me. You are correct. But I would keep it a secret. I do not wish the whole court to know.'

'Serenity,' Csevet said, suddenly. 'If I could, I would go back in time. I would have killed him while I had the chance, and done it gladly.'

Maia's burst of laughter was short and cheerless. 'Whereas I am glad you did not, for then I would not have you now,' he said, and with every word he seemed to have less and less breath. 'I am glad he will not be able to harm anyone else,' he said, so small he wondered if anyone but him could even hear. Then he put his head upon his knees and pressed his arms over his stomach. 'Csevet,' he said. 'Will you — please, wilt hold my hand? I feel as if I am drowning.'

There was a pause that seemed to stretch out for hours, then a gentle touch at Maia's elbow. Maia reached out a hand, and Csevet grasped it tightly with both of his own. His slender fingers were firm. Silence hung in the air.

'Do you think—' Maia said, 'do you think they know? We said he gloated and nothing more.'

'Serenity,' Csevet said, 'they will suspect that he hurt you. And we are truly sorry for our part in encouraging that assumption. But what the nobility do to couriers is not the court's concern. He does not have a reputation for rape.'

Maia nodded after a little while, then added: 'All right.'

Shame soured even the warmth of Csevet's hand in his own, the connection that grounded him. He withdrew his hand and got up, stepping around Csevet to leave the Tortoise Room. His heartbeat felt unsteady; his stomach rebelled. He should not have involved Csevet at all. He did not deserve help.

Csevet said nothing, made no noise, as if he'd faded from existence the moment Maia had pulled away.

That night Maia lay in bed, bone-tired, his whole body tensed and waiting for the dip in the mattress that he knew would not come — _could_ not come. The room was pitch-black and silent, save for Maia's own breathing, which he tried to make quiet but only wound up making louder. He wondered what Kiru thought of it, and if she thought he was pathetic. It felt like Kiru was not there at all, and there was nothing to stop anyone from climbing onto the bed—

Maia dug his nails into his arm, biting his lip from the pain of it. He could not seem to move, not even to kick away the covers. He was sweating, so exhausted he wanted to cry. The hours crawled past.

When he finally slept, his rest was fitful.

Setheris was shouting at him, slurring his words. 'Hast been ignoring us, or does thy mind drivel as thy face does? Ungrateful brat!'

A blow to the back of his shoulders. Maia dropped his pen and it rolled off the table with a clatter. 'We have been teaching thee for hours and still thy moon-suckling head canst not comprehend?' Another blow.

Maia was sobbing, the crying of a terrified child.

Setheris snarled, 'What is the answer?' A third blow. Maia's back was alight with pain. Even had he been able to speak, he did not know the answer.

'Useless!' A fourth blow. 'Pathetic!' A fifth.

Setheris grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backwards. The bed cushioned his fall. Looking up, Maia watched Setheris kneel between his naked legs. His hands covered his face as Setheris pulled him closer, forced himself inside of Maia—

Maia woke, utterly still on the bed. His breathing was calm. Two thoughts occurred simultaneously: one, that Setheris would be horrified and disgusted by Maia and his dream; and second, that Maia could not hear anyone else in the room.

'Kiru?' He spoke before he could freeze up, and was rewarded with the sound of a gentle stirring.

'We are here,' Kiru said, her feminine voice a small shock for all that he'd been expecting it. 'Is there anything you need?'

Maia didn't know how to reply, so said nothing, but lay in the darkness. After a few moments of silence, the thought that he had imagined Kiru's voice occurred and then nagged at him. The image of Setheris kneeling over him burnt itself into Maia's closed eyes. _Setheris had never — he would never—_ Maia could not finish the thought. _It is entirely of thine own creation. He is innocent._

The image of Tethimar and Csevet—

Maia sat up abruptly. 'Kiru,' he croaked. 'A light...'

The sound of a match, then candlelight, coming in through cracks in the bed canopy. Maia focused on them intently. Kiru said, 'Are you all right?'

Maia took a few breaths. 'Yes, thank you,' he said. 'A bad dream, is all. If you would leave the light on while I sleep, please.'

'Serenity,' Kiru murmured.

As he lay down, Maia realised belatedly that he had used the informal _I_ , but any further words got tangled up in his throat and would not come out. _Canst do nothing right?_ He swallowed, but the tangle did not ease. If he drank some water, perhaps — except that he could neither move to get up, nor force the words out to ask, and at any rate, it would be rude to disturb Kiru any more than he had already.

When he closed his eyes the image of Setheris returned. Maia opened his eyes, focused on the cracks of light. Why had he dreamt of Setheris? Why such a dream? Tethimar had spoken of him... Maia blinked. Tethimar had spoken of Setheris, but Maia had reported him as having only spoken of Sheveän. Was there significance in that? Had Tethimar and Setheris a secret rapport? No — no, they couldn't have. Setheris would not—

And if Maia had said that Tethimar did speak of him, what would happen to Setheris? Would he be implicated in the crime, whether or not he were guilty? He would, and Maia knew with a sudden, bright clarity that he could do no more than tell the truth and Setheris would be ruined forever.

He needed water. He felt dirty, the memory of the gag returning in his mouth, the tangle in his throat, choking him. Why had he dreamt of Setheris thus? What was wrong with him? He couldn't move or speak. Suddenly desperately thirsty, the cracks of light mocked him. He should not disturb Kiru. He should not move, or cry, or do anything else to cause Kiru to worry, or to despise him. If he could only pretend to be asleep, then perhaps Kiru could relax. The knot in his throat swelled, hot, painful. Tears appeared in his eyes and fell noiselessly down his cheeks. He needed to be quiet. He needed to be good.

The next morning Maia, hollow-eyed and slow, let his edocharei dress him. Csevet sat with him throughout breakfast, scribbling on a single sheet of paper as he pretended not to watch over Maia, before at last the plates were all cleared and there was no excuse to put off the start of the day any longer.

'Serenity,' Csevet said, pausing to look up from his papers, his voice soft. 'Dach'osmer Tethimar was arrested yesterday evening. We hear he denies any wrongdoing.'

Maia nodded without feeling, and didn't reply. He had not known what he'd expected — not wanted to think hard enough to expect anything at all. But, Maia thought suddenly, however hard Tethimar denied it, it would only ever be his word against Maia's. And Maia was the Emperor of all Ethuverazhin.

A thrill ran though him, like static in the bones of his spine.

After a long moment of silence Csevet changed the topic and listed the day's schedule, still far emptier than Maia knew it needed to be. Maia stared into the polished surface of the table, letting the words wash over him. Answer or otherwise deal with the stacks of letters that were still coming in. Receive over a dozen of the more important audiences (which, Maia noted distantly, did not include Setheris, or Hesero Nelaran). Review the minutes of the Corazhas that had proceeded without him. Maia listened and tried not to let his ears sink, for over all of it hung the knowledge that tonight, he would have to talk to Dazhis.

What could Maia say? Could he forgive him, after everything that had happened? Maybe. Perhaps. Maia threw himself into the day's work and managed to let himself forget. Listening to other people's problems, and, for better or worse, having no one challenge his judgements of them. The simple comfort of sitting opposite Csevet, listening to his pen scratch, and working together to sort out the mountain of correspondence and paperwork.

Then, far too soon, moonset came. Maia found himself led, as if by the hand, an obedient child, to the Mazan’theileian. There he sat in front of Dazhis, entirely voiceless. Too many emotions burnt inside of him.

Dazhis was meant to look after him, and instead he'd betrayed him. Dazhis had been right to want a new emperor. Dazhis was wrong to break his oath. Dazhis had never meant for Maia to be hurt. Dazhis had been the reason Tethimar had had the opportunity to hurt Maia at all.

Dazhis' weeping was messy, and Maia wondered how much of what had happened he knew. Then he wondered whether the bruises across his own cheekbones were still visible, and forced down the urge to hide his face with his hands.

'I swear, Serenity,' Dazhis said, between his sobs, 'I was told you wouldn't be harmed. I would never have — if I'd known—'

Maia couldn't speak. He wanted to cover his face and close his eyes. He wanted to leave. His heart beat in his throat and he felt sure he'd throw up if he opened his mouth. When Dazhis asked if Maia would stay, Maia froze and didn't reply.

Dazhis nodded, accepting silence as a refusal. He seemed oddly calmer afterwards, and after a long, wordless moment, Maia found himself shepherded out by the two canons, who'd decided the visit had gone on long enough. Maia let himself be guided, and couldn't meet Telimezh's eyes as they passed in the corridor.

Back in the Alcethmeret, Maia went to straight to bed, and barely managed to acknowledge, much less thank, his edocharei as they fussed over him. Had Dazhis performed the revethvoran now, or not yet? Was he at this moment, as Maia lay in his bed of silks and down, bleeding out in agony? Was he frightened? Or was he cold and stiff and dead?

This was not getting better. What had Maia done when Setheris had knocked him against the firescreen and torn open his arm? A doctor had been called in and had sewn him up. He had been given laudanum for the pain. Setheris had avoided him for the fortnight afterwards. Eventually, Maia had got over his fear, or at least it had returned to its previous levels, and he no longer flinched whenever Setheris was in the room.

This time there was nothing to sew up. He was offered no laudanum, though, he supposed, Csevet would know where to obtain it. Doctor Ushenar would have it, but then, the presence of a doctor in his chambers — again — would be cause for talk. He could ask Kiru.

But why should he have need of it anyway? He felt no pain and did not bleed; he had were no broken bones. Sweating and nightmares did not merit a doctor. He — Tethimar had — what? He barely knew what Tethimar had done. If anyone were to deserve pain relief, it were Dazhis.

The feeling of hands returned, suddenly, and Maia breathed very carefully out of his mouth, panic fluttering in his chest. His jaw ached and he rubbed it, trying to scrub away the memory. There was nothing he could do to scrub away the feeling in the depths of his gut. He felt sick. Soon Kiru would see that she was wrong to want to guard him, and Telimezh would wish he had taken his leave when he had the chance. Csevet had told Maia his story only because he could not refuse his emperor. Maia had been too cowardly to comfort Dazhis in his last moments. Hadn't even been strong enough to watch what Dazhis had had to perform.

No wonder Dazhis had wanted Idra to rule instead.

 _Pathetic,_ Maia thought, wearily, too tired to be savage. _Art pathetic. Thou canst not do this._

_Canst not, alone. But thou are not alone, whatever thou deserves, Edrehasivar._

 

_* * * * *_

 

The next morning, head aching, Maia managed to keep his eyes open throughout breakfast only by biting the tip of his tongue until it bled. He poked his black pudding around the plate, at once both desperately hungry and unable to stomach the thought of eating, and didn't know whether to thank or stop Isheian as the plates were cleared.

He attempted to quiet his hunger with tea, and succeeded only partially. Csevet bringing in bundles of letters and other pieces of paperwork achieved that end somewhat better.

Unwillingly, as his eyes glazed over at the task of reading agricultural reports, his thoughts went back to Csevet and Tethimar. Csevet had seemed to imply that such situations were not uncommon. Not uncommon for couriers as a whole, or for him specifically...? Had he ever been — Maia baulked at the word, even in his own head. But the idea refused to leave him. What if? He should not even be thinking of such a topic, most certainly not about that and Csevet, but — what if?

'Csevet,' he said, as they sat on opposite sides of the desk, Cala and Beshelar behind him. 'Are you happy?'

Csevet looked startled at the question, but said, immediately: 'Yes, Serenity. We are very happy.'

Maia nodded. _How?_ he wanted to ask. _Why?_ He didn't ask, but couldn't stop staring at Csevet, whose ears flicked and mouth twisted with an expression Maia could not decipher. It did not, Maia thought, look very happy.

 _He wants to say or do something,_ Maia realised. _But because it is to thee, he cannot._

Maia closed his eyes briefly; opening them again felt as if they were made of lead. He looked at the report he'd been reading: wheat harvests in Thu-Cethor. According to the numbers it had been a good year.

 _Thou must either weather this alone,_ Maia thought, _or ask for help, for thou art emperor and they cannot offer_. _And yet, neither can they refuse should thou askest, no matter their desires. What, then, shalt thou do?_

In front of him Csevet had gone back to work, and Maia risked a glance up at him. Csevet's white eyelashes, downcast as he read, were faintly visible against the pale colour of his eyes.

Maia breathed out, and got back to work as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Nine days after Maia was rescued, Csevet arrived in the Tortoise Room with a letter from Lord Berenar. 'Serenity,' he said with a short bow as he handed it over, and waited at the desk for Maia to finish reading.

The letter, outlining the investigation into Sheveän's attempted coup, was brief and far less formal than one of Chavar's would have been. Maia's eyes were pulled unwillingly down the neat lines until they found Tethimar's name.

'He has said nothing,' Maia said out loud, then flicked his ears in embarrassment when he realised that Csevet would hardly have any idea of what he meant. 'Dach'osmer Tethimar, we mean,' he amended. 'He is still refusing to admit to anything.'

'Not that it will make any difference in the trial,' Csevet said. His ears had stiffened, and his mouth was carefully straight. Maia looked back down at the letter again so as to not risk being caught staring.

'Yes. As things stand, he will be charged with the same crimes as the Princess Sheveän and Lord Chavar.' Something bitter twisted in Maia's chest. 'Unless he decides to—' The word _brag_ caught in his throat; he fumbled for a substitute and could not find one.

Csevet didn't react, though Maia heard Beshelar shift where he stood by the door. Finally, when it became obvious Maia was not going to finish, Csevet said, 'If he did, it would be his death sentence. But we wonder if he wouldn't prefer that to relegation.' He shook his head with a jangle of earrings, and when he continued it was with a stronger voice. 'His current actions hardly lend him credit. It would not be hard to proclaim him mad, were he to start claiming worse crimes than those he is already charged with.'

Maia frowned. 'But would it be believed?'

'If done correctly,' Csevet said. 'Of course, it would be harder to justify executing a madman.'

Maia paused, staring at him, and under his gaze Csevet flushed. 'Our apologies, Serenity,' he said. 'We overstepped.'

The bitter thing in Maia's chest curled like a snake. 'No one is going to be executed,' he said, attempting to sound firm. Sheveän and Chavar certainly didn't deserve it, and Maia didn't know if he could save them if it got out that Tethimar had done what he did. Even if Tethimar deserved—

Tethimar was going to be sentenced for the same crimes. He would be relegated far from court, and Maia would never have to think about him again. What Tethimar deserved was of no consequence. The emperor was above petty fantasies of revenge.

Maia held that thought as he wrote a reply to Lord Berenar, finished breakfast, and prepared for the day ahead.

Two days later, during audiences, he forced himself to hold onto that thought as Dach'osmin Paru Tethimin approached him in the Untheileian. She was, he'd been forewarned by a frowning Csevet, the Tethimada's chosen representative for a formal apology. Duke Tethimel, it seemed, intended to stay in Eshoravee unless directly ordered otherwise.

Paru Tethimin was dressed as grandly as when she'd been introduced to him, though this time in a fashion more suited to a fourteen-year-old girl. No degree of formal clothing could have made her presence in the Untheileian any less of a direct insult.

Dach'osmin Tethimin was not visibly shaking as she finally arrived at the base of the steps and prostrated herself, and Maia was thankful for that at least as he beckoned her closer. She stumbled only a few times on the lengthy, formulaic and utterly impersonal apology. Her eyes were afraid but strangely bright.

There was a list of things Maia knew he should tell her: he had been expecting a more senior member of her family. That the Tethimada's apology was accepted. That he did not hold her or any of the other Tethimada under any suspicion.

There was also a list of things Maia knew he absolutely could not say: that he was angry. That he knew Duke Tethimel was not sorry, except for that his son had been caught. That although he was putting Tethimar back into the hands of his own house, Maia would make sure that the man was not treated as if the imperial sentence of relegation meant nothing. Did she know her brother was a monster?

'Thank you. Your apology is accepted,' Maia said. He tried to smile but was painfully aware that he was probably not doing very well at it. He struggled for something to add. 'Will you stay at the Untheileneise Court?'

'Duke Tethimel bids us come home,' Dach'osmin Tethimin said. 'We will return to Thu-Athamar before Winternight.'

What else was there to say? She clearly did not want to be here. Everyone involved knew that the formal apology was no more heartfelt than the taxes the principalities grudgingly sent.

Maia nodded, his ears flicking restlessly. Then, before he could wish her a safe journey and thus dismiss her, she blurted: 'We are ashamed.' Her eyes widened as if in horror at her own words, not approved of beforehand by her father or brother, but she fumbled on regardless. 'It should be Duke Tethimel prostrating himself at your feet, not us. He should be begging your forgiveness for his son's crimes. Dach'osmer Tethimar is — he is not a good man. He is cruel — evil — we are ashamed to call him our brother.'

There were sudden tears in her eyes; her ears were flat, her hands curled into fists at her sides. 'We wish he had been caught sooner,' she said. 'We hope he hangs—'

She put her hands up over her mouth. 'Serenity,' she managed. She was crying. 'We are sorry.' She tried to say more, but her words were muffled as she pressed her fingers to her mouth, as if trying to stuff the words she'd already let out back in.

Maia sat frozen, horrified into uselessness. A terrible thought occurred to him; he swallowed it back. 'Dach'osmin,' he said, trailing off into silence. Only the thought of Beshelar at his back stopped him from getting up and going to her.

After a moment, Paru Tethimin composed herself and knelt. 'We said things we should not have,' she said. 'We beg you, Serenity, to ignore our outburst.'

'Please, stand,' Maia said. 'We will think nothing more of it. It has been a trying time for us all.'

Paru Tethimin nodded as she stood, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief one last time before straightening and looking Maia in the eye. 'You are kind, Serenity,' she said. Her formal court mask was back. 'Thank you.'

'We will ensure that Dach'osmer Tethimar will not cause any more harm,' Maia said. 'To anyone.'

'Thank you, Serenity,' Paru Tethimin said.

'We wish you a safe journey home.'

'Thank you,' she said again. She bowed and left.

Csevet appeared on the steps in front of the throne, ears lowered. 'Serenity,' he said. 'Would you like a break before your next audience? There is time.'

'No,' Maia said. He felt oddly disconnected, recognising the presence of some emotion boiling up inside of him but not feeling it. If he could retreat into other people's problems, he thought dimly, then he might be able to bury it. 'We will carry on. How many more are left?'

'Just the three,' Csevet said. 'Osmers Bala and Iviret Celobar are next, to request your judgement on an inheritance quarrel.'

Two hours later the emotion hit him as he was halfway back to the Alcethmeret: an iron fist squeezing his insides, heart hammering as if it were trying to escape. Fury swelled up in him like lightheadedness.

How dare Paru Tethimin come to him in what was meant to be an apology and instead pile her own troubles on him? What was even the point of bothering him with such trite apologies when it was more than obvious that none of the Tethimada meant them at all? Had Tethimar laughed about what he'd done with her, and in letters sent home to his father? The audience had been pointless, a waste of Maia's time; the apology mocked him with his own inability to act. The whole family deserved each other.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. The sound of Kiru and Telimezh behind him, having changed shift at the end of the audiences, angered him. Did they have to walk right on his heels? Did they expect an assassin to jump out from behind a wall hanging? And even if one were to do just that, perhaps it would just be better for everyone—

By the time he was back in the Tortoise Room the emotion had collapsed in on itself. How could he begrudge Dach'osmin Tethimin her tears? After all, she had suffered Tethimar her whole life whilst he had for only a short few hours. Had he not made a pathetic spectacle of himself countless times before? Had she not composed herself quickly and without aid? He did not deserve to judge her, not in the slightest.

'Serenity,' Kiru said very softly, coming around to stand beside him. 'Have you need of anything?'

'No,' Maia bit out; absurdly, he could feel himself start to cry. The remains of his anger, useless, directionless, clattered around in his head, swelling back into its former rage. He wanted to lash out at Kiru, make her stop looking at him, make her go away and leave him in peace — and the wild impulse to strike her across the face hit him like cold water. Maia backed away, shoulders hunched, head down. He folded his arms tightly across his stomach.

A desperate laugh bubbled in his throat. She could have killed him the moment he raised a hand against her — it wasn't the same, she was not a child—

He started to cry in earnest. 'We are sorry,' Maia said, turning his head to try to hide his face. Tears prickled down his skin, making his cheeks itch. What was wrong with him? He was very almost nineteen, not a little child any more. Merciful goddesses — he was the emperor!

He was an emperor who imagined striking his own nohecharo, a woman, someone trying to help him. Who let his own sister-in-law and Lord Chancellor very almost succeed in overthrowing him: kidnap him, lock him up, attempt to kill him. He hadn't even tried to escape. Had he tried to fight back when Tethimar had hurt him? Or had he just let it happen?

Maia wanted to stamp his feet or claw at his own skin. He should have let Idra take the throne. He should have just died already. He should go away and live with Setheris again, and maybe there he could stay out of everyone's way.

He put his hands up to wipe his face, but his tears turned into hitched sobs, getting stronger and stronger the harder he tried to keep them in. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this. Maia flinched as something touched his back, near his shoulder, but it was only Kiru. She led him to a chair and he sat down bonelessly; she kept her hand on his back but didn't move it as his mother had used to. After a long moment, an indeterminable amount of time, Maia's breathing calmed and he stopped crying. His mind was blank, as if he'd been meditating.

'Have you finished?' Kiru asked, not unkindly.

Maia felt dry inside, worn out like threadbare carpet, and a little foolish. 'We think so,' he said, not looking up from his lap.

'Mer Aisava?' Kiru said, standing. Her hand left Maia's back. 'Would you see to it that Isheian brings up some tea for His Serenity? Thank you.'

He wanted to ask if she'd done something, cast some sort of spell on him, but couldn't get the words right in his head. Eventually he gave up and just sat there, head bowed. Perhaps he ought to say something for Telimezh's sake. That he wasn't spelled, only tired. The poor man has definitely had his fill of magic, Maia thought. And he should at least sit up for when Isheian entered. At least try to hide the fact that he'd been crying. It really wasn't proper to send Csevet down to the kitchens for something like tea.

Maia didn't move or speak. The thoughts wound down into soothing nothingness. The sound of his own earrings startled him as his ears flicked.

The door opened and Csevet came in, balancing a full tea tray on one hand. He took a moment to look guilty. 'We were coming back up anyway, Serenity, and didn't want to bother Isheian,' he said. Then, ears lowering, 'We thought you would prefer less of a crowd.'

Maia smiled, if only just, and watched Csevet's hands as he set down the tray and poured a cup. The tea was not quite brewed enough. 'Thank you,' Maia said, and wondered whether Csevet would have done this if Beshelar had been on duty. And if Csevet had, would Beshelar have taken him aside after his shift and told him that it was not done, that Csevet was Edrehasivar's principal secretary and not a kitchen servant, and asked him whether he, of all people, wanted to be taken seriously? And would Csevet have only shrugged disarmingly and say said that it had been no matter?

Maia's smile widened a little against the rim of his teacup. Csevet settled down at the desk and started sorting through his papers. It really was not like him to do something so improper as to fetch tea, but Maia could not bring himself to mind.

Today he could focus on paperwork and correspondence, here with Csevet and his nohecharei. Tomorrow, Maia knew, he would have more public duties — including granting an audience to Hesero and Setheris. The anger in him hadn't gone but, like candle wax, its hard angles had melted and reformed, smoother, fitting to the shape of him.

Maia finished his tea and almost as soon as he put his cup down, Csevet refilled it. There was a strange look in his eyes, Maia thought. Sad, and yet not.Csevet caught him staring, smiled, and returned to work with a respectful dip of his head, eyes downcast.

 

* * * * *

 

The next day Maia ruled Setheris innocent, and watched impassively as Setheris bowed and Hesero curtsied before him. After they left and the door had closed Maia said, 'It is not fair.' The words fell from his tongue before he could stop them; he flushed and couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger or old, stale fear.

Csevet looked at him. 'No,' he said finally, turning his eyes away. They had lost the look they'd held the day before. 'It's not.'

Maia's flush had not receded. He could feel his pulse in the back of his mouth and it made him sick.

In the Corazhas that afternoon Maia sat stiff in his chair, wound tight with fantasies of Beshelar taking his sword to his back the moment he leaned forward. Cala gripping his shoulder: a revethmaz.

Lord Pashavar was speaking. Lord Deshehar replied. Maia couldn't tell what they were saying. He really should be paying attention. The fear of their disapproval paralysed him. They would all want to be rid of him. They would succeed this time.

Maia dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He had to concentrate. What was he worth if he couldn't even do that?

It was Cala and Beshelar. They would not hurt him. Surely not. Surely not.

It was Lord Bromar's turn to speak; he looked peeved. He was talking about the visit from the Great Avar, who would arrive — all things going well — in four days. When would they allow the Clocksmiths’ Guild of Zhaö to present? Csevet had said that he would make sure it happened, but time was running out.

No — he had to concentrate — the prickle of his exposed nape, waiting to be seized — he couldn't even understand what they were fighting about this time. The Corazhas were above directing the sort of logistics that had yet to be settled. What, then, were they arguing over?

The words dragged through his head like brambles. The Avar's visit wasn't the actual topic at hand. They were discussing the Barizheise spice trade and how it would be affected.

Did the revethmaz hurt? Or was it so quick the person just blinked out of existence?

The Corazhas ended without Maia having contributed a word. Why hadn't he said anything? He had learnt so much — if he went back to how he'd been when he'd arrived, what would they think? What would they do? Why was he so useless? As he walked through the hallways he was hyperaware of Cala and Beshelar behind him.

The image of his four nohecharei surrounding him as he lay in bed, tearing him apart like starlings on a grasshopper.

_Cstheio Caireizhasan, hear me,_ Maia thought, without meaning to. His shoulders tensed as self-consciousness struck him, the fear that everyone around him could read minds and had heard him. No one reacted. He couldn't finish the prayer, and the knowledge that meditation was beyond his reach now only piqued him, and the pique helped drive away the fear.

After the Corazhas there was a petition from representatives of what had been the Leatherworkers' Guild of Rosiro, until Varenechibel IV had seen fit to dismantle it two years ago. It took over half an hour of back-and-forth and three sharp comments from Csevet about obfuscation until Maia finally understood that the representatives themselves had no idea of Varenechibel's reasons.

Maia let go of the desire to allow their guild to reassemble purely because it had been his father who had closed it down. 'We will look into the matter,' he said before he dismissed them, and watched from the corner of his eye as Csevet started writing.

'We're afraid we don't know any more about this than they do,' Csevet said when he looked up and caught Maia's silent question. 'But we will get what we can find to you by tomorrow morning.'

'Thank you,' Maia said.

That evening he dined with Arbelan for the first time since Sheveän's coup, his kidnapping. He had thought dinners with her had been postponed until after the Winternight celebrations, but on finding one had been scheduled Maia had not been inclined to point this out. They ate mostly in silence, but even so it was not as uncomfortable as Maia had thought it would be. Cala and Beshelar stood by the door where Maia could see them.

It was quiet. Arbelan took her time, eating as if strolling around a garden in spring. Finally she said, 'Dach'osmin Ceredin is concerned for you,' and shocked Maia into letting his soup pour off his spoon and splash into his bowl.

'Is she?' Maia said in genuine bemusement, then felt his face heat. 'We suppose the gossip of our... of us is at every far corner of the Ethuveraz by now.'

'Indeed,' Arbelan said. 'And it seems even our most reliable sources are starting to believe the rumours of you hiding some fatal injury or other.' She spoke as if it were absurd but her expression was careful.

Maia smiled weakly. 'We are afraid they will be disappointed,' he said, and lowered his eyes to his soup.

'On the contrary,' Arbelan said. Her voice was soft. 'There will be a great deal of relief.'

Maia blinked at her. Arbelan only smiled and resumed eating.

Maia risked a glance up at Cala and Beshelar, but they were still and carefully neutral, attentive without being interested in the conversation: the picture of proper nohecharei.

'Can you tell her?' Maia said, attempting to to unstick the words from his throat. 'Dach'osmin Ceredin, we mean. That we are well, we just — we are well.'

'Of course we can,' Arbelan said. There was no mockery in her tone. 'We can also put our efforts into squashing these rumours. Our voice is limited but not ignored, in this especially.'

'Oh. Thank you. Yes, that would be good,' Maia said. 'And — what do they say now?' He spoke in a rush, trying to get the words out before he could stop himself, trying to prove that he was not too frightened of the answer to want to know it.

_They know the truth; they know and judge thee; they think thou art weak and useless and should have died; they will do it to thee again and again until they succeed._

'All sorts of things, though at the moment no one really believes any one of them,' Arbelan said. 'Just the theme. The most popular at the moment is that you contracted consumption and are slowly fading away, never mind that you have none of the symptoms. Another is that you were cursed by your rogue nohecharis.'

Maia flinched. Arbelan, who looked like she'd been about to continue, went silent.

They finished the soup. Neither of them spoke as Isheian cleared the table and brought out steamed buns, pure white and pork filled, and with them a half-dozen little dishes of sauces, minced garlic, and chilli. Maia watched Arbelan and copied how she ate; graciously, she did not comment.

Afterwards Maia blurted: 'Dazhis didn't hurt us.'

Arbelan looked at him, uncomprehending.

'My nohecharis. The one who — he was with Princess Sheveän and Lord Chavar. There is no curse. He never hurt us. Not directly.'

Arbelan's mouth hardened. She didn't say anything for a moment, then finally: 'Yes. We did suspect that came from one who knows nothing about the mazei.'

Maia didn't reply. The food sat badly in his stomach. His shoulders were trembling, but not with fear. Another emotion, tight and fierce, coursed through him.

 

* * * * *

 

When Mer Celehar's letter arrived, Maia had to read it twice — and some of the more relevant passages twice more again — before the information finally sank in. He handed the pages to Csevet and stood wordlessly, clutching at his sleeve hems whilst Csevet read. He could hear the sound of talk and laughter from the Great Avar's reception, which he'd left only a few minutes ago but which felt like an entirely different world.

He'd been enjoying speaking to Merrem Vizhenka. Her talk of ships, sisters and ocean currents had made him eager to know more in a way he had forgotten happened. The word _Tethimada_ , written in Celehar's now familiar handwriting, burnt across his vision. The name that would not go away no matter how desperately he wanted it to.

It had been Duke Tethimel who'd killed his father and brothers? Very well. He could believe that.

'What do we do?' Maia said, as Csevet finished reading with a long exhale and a flick of his ears to correct their posture.

'This should be given to Captain Orthema, Serenity,' Csevet said. 'Who can use it to question Dach'osmer Tethimar. He has not said anything yet, for he does not want to help us. He might well be more inclined to talk of what he assumes we already know.'

'Would it not be better to wait for Mer Celehar to return? He said he had no proof, after all. What if he's mistaken?'

'Perhaps,' Csevet said, and frowned, mouth twisting. 'However, if it were true, every moment Duke Tethimel is free is another moment you are in danger, Serenity. And there are almost certainly allies of theirs at court whom Dach'osmer Tethimar is keeping quiet about. They, too, are dangerous.'

Maia held his jaw tight shut, dangerously close to saying that he didn't care.

'Serenity, you need not do anything,' Csevet said. 'Captain Orthema and Lord Berenar will handle this for you—'

'Please,' Maia said, cutting over the end of Csevet's sentence, louder than he meant to. 'Do not. Do not treat us like an infant.'

_He would not, an wert not to act like one._ Maia swallowed back the thought, regretting his words as he watched Csevet retreat back into the impersonal facade of Edrehasivar's secretary. 'We are sorry,' Maia said. 'We did not mean to snap at you like that.'

Csevet bowed deeply. 'It was our error, Serenity,' he said, keeping his eyes low even when he straightened. 'We should not have spoken to you thus. It is our duty to apologise, not yours.'

Maia half-wanted to tell Csevet, D _o not treat us like that, either,_ but held his tongue. 'You made no error,' Maia said, and shook out his ears. 'Very well. If you would get Mer Celehar's letter to Captain Orthema, and have him question Dach'osmer Tethimar on the matter of our father's death.'

Csevet bowed again. 'Serenity. Shall we do this now?'

'Yes, please,' Maia said. He watched as Csevet left, letter carefully tucked away into his sheaf of papers. The sound of the reception filtered back to him. Maia was struck with the urge to go back to the Alcethmeret, sit down in the Tortoise Room, and wait for Csevet to return. Not for the news he'd bring with him, just—

Someone laughed, very loudly, from the other room. No doubt everyone at the reception was wondering where Maia had got to. He'd probably broken some goblin custom by leaving as he had. Or an elvish one.

'We had better return, then,' Maia said in the plural, voice dull. Neither Cala nor Beshelar replied.

  

* * * * *

 

The executions were scheduled for exactly one month after Winternight.

_Dach'osmin Tethimin will get her wish after all_ , Maia thought. He could not tell whether he was glad or not that she would not be present to witness it. He carefully ignored the fact that he would be.

Csevet reported the next night that Tethimar, after revealing his hand in the crash of the _Wisdom of C_ _hoharo_ _,_ had also confessed to what he'd done to Maia during the coup. 'Serenity,' Csevet said. He sat at the desk in the Tortoise Room and fiddled distractedly with the papers in front of him. 'He speaks irrationally at the best of times, mostly seeming desperate for any chance to insult or blame you for his situation. With an official statement denying it, and Doctor Ushenar's corroboration, we very much doubt that anyone will truly believe him.'

'They believed him In the matter of the _Wisdom of_ _Choharo_ ,' Maia said, though he didn't know why he was arguing.

Csevet shrugged a little awkwardly. 'They had immediate confirmation from Dach'osmer Ubezhar. No one is going to confirm this.'

'But there will be talk of it nonetheless,' Maia said.

'Serenity.' Csevet looked down, the tilt of his ears unhappy. 'Yes.'

Maia didn't reply. Had he truly expected that he could hide this forever? No. Perhaps. He had hoped that maybe, if he tried hard enough—

Dach'osmin Ceredin would hear the rumours. What would she think, on their wedding night? Would it all make sense to Arbelan once she heard, if she had not already? How would she look at him now? Idra was old enough to understand, or would be in a year or two. And Lord Berenar, and all of the Witnesses of the Corazhas? How could they respect him now?

Maia sat still for a moment, waiting for some wave of emotion to come crashing down on him. Nothing happened. The bitterness coiling inside of him turned.

'We had hoped, before,' Maia said finally, watching his fingers tangle together on his lap, 'that we would get better. That we could have at least hidden it. Then there would be no evidence for whatever Dach'osmer Tethimar said, and passing off his word as madness could be so much easier. But we didn't and now everyone has seen us.' His hands clenched into fists. His rings dug into his skin. 'Weak. Terrified. Sometimes we cannot think for the fear of being betrayed. Our own mind tells us lies and makes us believe the most absurd things. We cannot control our anger. We think it has driven us mad. And as mad, we will eventually be removed. Which only makes us all the more frightened, and so pushes on the cycle.' He laughed, strangled, miserable. 'Csevet. Will we be like this forever?'

Csevet did not answer immediately, but stood and came around the side of the desk to kneel in front of Maia, so close his knees touched the toes of Maia's shoes. From this perspective, Maia thought distantly, it was hard to tell — were Csevet's ears lowered? Had he bowed his head? Maia's heart raced. The release of having spoken at all was immense.

'Serenity?' Csevet raised his hands to hover a few inches away from Maia's own, which were still clenched tight together. It took a long moment before Maia realised that he was waiting for permission.

'Please,' Maia said, barely fumbling out the word. Csevet took his hands and gently prised them apart, rubbing the blood back into his fingers, soothing over the bruises where his rings had pressed. Maia watched, mesmerised, holding still, as if by moving he might startle Csevet and frighten him away like a bird. As Maia watched Csevet began to speak.

'I have been hurt by others, as you were. The wounds they gave me were not bodily, yet they still left scars, and the scars still hurt. But Serenity.' Csevet breathed out a low huff of laughter, eyes lowered. 'You should have seen me. I could barely function as a courier. I could not have done half of what you do every day. To me, you are unimaginably strong. Brave. I admire you. There is no one else whom I admire more.'

Csevet's breath caught. 'Serenity,' he said, 'what I mean to say is, I have since healed. These wounds do heal. They just need time.'

Maia didn't know how to answer; he said nothing and did not move away from Csevet's grasp of his hands. Out of habit he glanced up at Cala and Beshelar and realised with a horrible jolt that they were tense, on alert. In the very same moment he thought there must be a person behind him, Tethimar or someone else come to hurt him, he realised that it was Csevet who had alarmed them. Csevet, still kneeling in deference at his feet, holding his hands apart so he could not hurt them against each other.

Of course Csevet was a threat. It would be so easy — a knife in Csevet's sleeve. Poison in the tea. Csevet could tell Maia to go to the most dangerous place in all the Ethuveraz, alone, and Maia would go.

Maia did not turn his eyes away from his nohecharei; Cala glanced down first, wearing a smile more sadness than anything else. He clasped his hands together silently. Beshelar, with a blush across the tips of his ears, looked away a second later, his shock shifting from disapproval to embarrassment. Maia trusted Csevet. But had he not also trusted Dazhis? Hadn't they all?

Maia let his eyes drift back down to Csevet. It did not matter. He trusted Csevet beyond all reason. He could not fear him. Maia could feel his heart swell in his chest as he bowed from the waist, pressing his forehead to Csevet's white fingers that were still tangled in the dark grey of his own.

He trusted Csevet, and he would learn to trust Cala and Beshelar again. He would trust Telimezh and Kiru. He could learn not to fear Dach'osmin Ceredin or Lord Berenar.

Could he? He still trembled at the thought of someone standing behind him. He still needed to withstand the aftermath of Tethimar's confessions. The mere thought of being seen at all by the whole court, who knew exactly what had happened, terrified him beyond words. How could he get through this? Even if he could learn to trust his nohecharei, how could he trust those in court who opposed him and would always oppose him?

He was weak, though Csevet had called him strong—

_Wilt learn to trust thyself._

Perhaps, Maia thought. With time.


End file.
